


The Night for Love

by chaibrows



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaibrows/pseuds/chaibrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>February 1958. Chris is trying to score himself a date to take to his high school's Valentine's Day Dance, but inevitably ends up a wallflower. That is, until a certain tall, dark, and strong-of-brow stranger turns up, and shows him what a real dance date is supposed to be like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semperama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/gifts).



> Sorry this is so late at night! I got too excited and it kept getting longer and longer and I kept crying.
> 
> I guess the real moral of the story here is don't watch Expedia commericals, apparently, because their cute 1950s background music will give you ideas, and then you'll have to act on them.
> 
> Here's the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CcGK47FRjSM) that inpsired it all. I listened to it on repeat while writing, and I could sing it in my sleep if I wanted.
> 
> Not beta'ed. All mistakes are my own. These are fictional representations of actual people- I mean no disrespect or intent to profit off this work.

Kathleen Burgeson turns down Chris’ invitation to be his date to the Valentine's Dance.

He can’t say he’s surprised though, considering he doesn’t really give his classmates the opportunity to pay him any attention off of the baseball field, walking the halls with his nose always stuck in some book.

Chris tries not to look as crestfallen as he feels when Kathleen rests her hand on his arm and tells him that she thinks he’s a very sweet guy, and she’s sorry but she’s just not interested. Of course she isn’t, no one ever is.

It had taken Chris weeks to work up enough nerve to ask Kathleen. He even went the extra mile, taking advice on wooing girls from John, and then immediately rejecting that and going to his sister for help instead.

So when he'd shown up to Kathleen’s locker at the end of the day, red and white carnations in hand, hair combed meticulously and glasses hidden away inside his bag, Chris had been confident that his plan would succeed and he’d have the prettiest girl in the senior class as his Valentine’s date.

She won't even accept the carnations.

That afternoon, it's Chris’ mother who finds him sitting on their front porch, staring miserably at the wilted bouquet in his lap.

He sighs heavily as Gwynne takes a seat beside him on the steps. “Kathleen said no.”

“Oh, Chrissy.” She immediately reaches out to envelope him in a tight hug, the already ruffled flowers sandwiched between them. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“It's alright. I’m not sure why I ever expected her to say yes.”

Gwynne pushes him back by the shoulders and brushes featherlight hands over his hair. Her expression is gentle, but her tone is firm when she says, “Now, you listen to me, Christopher. You are a very handsome young man, and any girl would be lucky to have you as her date. What does it matter that you aren't going to the dance with Kathleen? That's her loss, honey, not yours.”

She shushes him softly when he opens his mouth to argue with her, a finely shaped brow arching towards her roller-curled hairline. “Your sweetheart is out there, Chrissy.”

“I just haven’t found them yet. I know, Mom.” Chris’ mother is usually quick to remind him of this fact, not that he isn’t already aware. He knows that meeting The One for him is bound to happen in a matter of time, and he isn’t actually destined to spend the remainder of his life alone. At least, he hopes he isn’t. Pushing that depressing train of thought away, Chris hands his mother the abused flowers. “You can… throw these away, I suppose. I don’t know what to do with them now.”

His mother kisses him on the forehead, and takes the carnations from his hands. “You’ll find a nice young lady to accompany you. I’m sure of it.”

That night, with his mother is settled into her most recent crocheting pattern and the television tuned in to _Tonight Starring Jack Paar,_ Chris spots something on the dining room table.

There, in glass vase of water, sit his carnations.

 

❤️

 

“You can't go to the dance alone, Pine. They’ll peg you as a fat-head before you ever leave the parking lot,” John says while they’re seated at the soda fountain counter.

“Aw, hush up, Cho. You think I don’t know that already?” Chris glares into his malt, only to immediately feel guilty at the terrified expression on the soda jerk’s face. _It’s not your fault,_ he attempts to convey silently. He takes a guess that it doesn’t work by the way the poor kid burns red from his curly hair to his bowtie.

Turning back to John, Chris says, “If you’re so all-knowing, then what you do you suggest I do, huh? If I can’t snag a date by being myself and I’m not allowed to show up alone?”

John swivels his barstool so that he’s facing Chris directly. The gleam in his eyes is more than a bit unsettling. Whatever’s about to leave his mouth, it won’t be good.

“I’ve got a gal who just so happens to need a date, and it looks like you’re the lucky winner, buddy.”

Chris recoils and narrowly avoids spraying John with chocolate malt. “Nuh-uh, no way, absolutely not. You can’t just set me up on a blind date. It’ll never work.”

John seems unconvinced. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

“Says me! I guarantee she’ll take one look at me and decide she’d rather settle for a floor lamp.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Pine. I’ve definitely seen floor lamps that are uglier than you.” John cackles when Chris blows a straw wrapper at his head.

Chris nurses his malt for a while until his internal monologue gets too overwhelming. “You really think she’ll like me, Cho?”

“I know she will. She’s a real doll. You two’ll get on like a house on fire.”

John ends up introducing Chris to a red-headed girl he’s never seen before named Lindsay… Lowell? Lowan? It raises a couple Red Flags that he doesn’t even know her last name, but Chris is willing to push those warning pangs in his stomach aside in order to make room for the butterflies. Lindsay really _is_ a doll, John wasn't lying. And she didn't immediately reject him for furniture after laying eyes on him. Maybe he’ll give this a chance after all. Going to the Valentine’s Dance with a pretty girl isn’t the worst thing he’s ever done.

The night of the dance, they’re standing on the Pines’ back patio as Chris’ mother flutters around taking countless photographs with their new Kodak camera. “Just a couple more pictures, I promise. That’s all. Turn more towards Lindsay. You look so wooden, Christopher.”

“I’m not going to bite, silly,” Lindsay giggles as Chris blushes as red as the rose on her corsage.

The camera shutter clicks again. “Mom!” He angles inward anyway, putting an arm around Lindsay’s waist and pulling her closer. He tries not to fidget with the baby-pink ruffles on her dress too badly and instead focuses on the scent of her sweet, flowery perfume.

Chris’ mother calls for a new pose, and Lindsay moves to adjust the Malmaison carnation pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket. The camera shutter clicks as the boutonniere stabs him in the chest again, and he sighs.

 

❤️

 

His dad actually lets him take the Chevy, and Chris spends the entire drive to the high school hoping that Lindsay isn’t watching him repeatedly wipe his clammy hands on his thighs. She has yet to mention his nervousness, and if she had planned on it, she would’ve done so already.

He can see her in his peripheral vision, arm resting on the door as she admires the corsage he had gotten her, backlit against the window. In the evening light, her red curls glow bright around her lightly freckled face, and even though she’s really truly sitting in the passenger seat of his car, Chris still can’t believe that a girl like Lindsay is his Valentine’s date.

After being rejected by Kathleen, he thought for sure that he would be spending his Saturday night at home with Frank Sinatra on the radio and whatever book he could find that would hold his interest until he inevitably fell asleep on the sofa.

John Cho may be one hell of a character, but he's good for some things. If this whole escapade with Lindsay works out, Chris will be hand delivering Whitman’s Samplers to Cho’s front door for the next week.

Chris manages not to wreck his dad's car before pulling into a parking space, and the steering wheel isn't as slimy as he thought it’d be. He turns the key in the ignition, and without the rumble of the engine, the silence that fills the space is suffocating. It's times like these when Chris generally begins to panic, like he is right now, sitting stupidly in the driver’s seat. Oh god, why is Lindsay just sitting there staring at him? What is he doing wrong? He's supposed to open the door for her, _Christopher get out of the car and be gentleman._

Chris’ heart beats a mile a minute on walk through the parking lot to the gymnasium. Lindsay keeps tugging at his hands, chiding him to walk faster, and he surprises himself with the strong urge to dig his heels into the blacktop.

Inside, the dance is a whirlwind of activity. Couples crowd the floor, moving together underneath pink and white paper streamers that decorate the ceiling. Paper hearts are taped all over the walls. There’s even balloons, and they too are shaped like hearts. The PTA has really outdone themselves.

Chris steadily ignores his own heart, which has lodged itself somewhere in his throat, and leads Lindsay out to join the crowd. “You fit right in here, with your pink dress and red hair. You’re a Valentine, yourself,” he says, and feels his cheeks grow hot.

She smiles and pecks him on the cheek, “Well, you belong up there with the decorations, too, because you’re such a sweetheart.”

Chris stumbles his way through a dance or two. He’s too focused on where he places his feet to actually pay attention to when the songs change. He can sense that Lindsay’s growing impatient with his apprehension, and tries not to sigh in relief when she takes pity on him and leads them off to the row of chairs along the wall.

“I’m going to go fix my hair, get a drink, and then I'll be right back. Stay here, okay?” Lindsay disappears into the crowd of people, leaving Chris to sit by himself. Fortunately, not long after she's gone, John finds him.

“How's your date, Daddy-O?” Cho is well on his way to getting drunk. It's only 8:45, too. Chris doesn't know whether to be concerned or impressed. “She didn't ditch you already did she?”

Chris shakes his head, and pulls at his tie. It's getting hotter in here. “I sure hope not. She told me she wouldn't be gone long, but you and I both know I don't exactly have the best track record with girls.”

“Chris, Chris. Sweet, innocent Chris,” John says, as he pats Chris on the cheek. “Give yourself more credit. Those baby blues are to die for.”

“Alright, enough, you jerk,” Chris laughs, removing Cho's hand from his face. “I think I see Lindsay headed this way, so make like a tree.”

“And leave? I gotcha, buddy. I gotcha.” Cho departs with not so sly wink. Chris is going to rethink the hand delivered Whitman’s now.

Lindsay eventually makes her way back, sitting herself in Chris’ lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “You didn't miss me too badly, did you?”

Chris is too surprised at her forwardness to formulate a reply, and Lindsay must take his silence as a negative response because she shifts off of him with a huff.

They sit silently for another song, until Lindsay turns and says testily, “Chris, are we ever going to dance again?”

“You saw me out there, I'm not exactly the best dancer here. I'm sorry.”

“Then why are we even here, if all we're going to do is sit and watch other people have a good time?”

Chris buries his face in his hands. “I don't know. This wasn't a good idea, Lindsay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have listened to John.”

“Well, you're right about that. When he told me he'd found a date for me, I was willing to give you a chance. But it turns out you're just a really big square. I'm here, might as well find someone to make it fun. Don't bother giving me a ride home, Chris.” Lindsay departs in a swish of ruffles and baby pink tulle, leaving Chris alone with his embarrassment.

A soft accented voice to his left says, “So, you're not big on dancing either, huh?”

When he looks over, he finds the voice belongs to a different red haired girl, pin curls bouncing around the nape of her neck. She's got a round, cherubic face, a drastic contrast to Lindsay's sharper features.

The softness in her appearance is relaxing, and Chris is overcome with the urge to open up to her.

“I'm not a dancer. Not really. I'm not even sure why I thought it'd be a good idea to come tonight.”

The girl nods knowingly. “I certainly understand that feeling. It's sort of an inside joke with myself, coming to all the holiday dances. I have to come to something if it's named in honor of me.” She shoots him a coy smile.

Chris sits back in his hair, and crosses his legs, honestly intrigued. “How’s that?”

“My name _is_ Holliday.” He laughs his first genuine laugh of the night and she proudly extends a hand. “But my friends call me Holly.”

“Christopher. Friends call me Chris.” A sudden thought strikes him. “Hey, wait a minute. You're apparently just as much of a wallflower as I am. Tell me you’re here with somebody?”

Holliday smoothes the wrinkles out of her soft-green dress, and crosses her arms. She’s definitely got a bone to pick with somebody. “I _was_ here with a group of girlfriends, but they’ve all found themselves dates and left me alone. I don’t have a ride home, now.”

“Well, if you’re looking to leave soon, I know a guy you can call. He’s a friend of mine. We’re on the baseball team together. Name’s Ben, Ben Foster. You know him?”

Holliday purses her lips, a thoughtful expression on her face. Eventually, she shakes her head. “Ben Foster? No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“He’s reliable, don’t worry. And he drives a Thunderbird. You’ll love it.” Chris digs around his pants pockets for a pen, and finds one. He is nothing if not predictable. “You got something to write on? I’ll give you his telephone number.”

Twisting around in her seat, Holliday rips a red paper heart off the wall and hands it to him, giggling. “I got something now.”

He gives the heart back with Ben’s number written on it, and Holliday takes it, smiling. “Thanks, Chris. I’d hate to have been stuck here all night, even though you aren’t terrible company. I’m going to go find a telephone. And I’m sorry your date stood you up.”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s better off with somebody who doesn’t have two left feet. It was nice talking to you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Holly.”

They shake hands again (thank God Chris isn’t all clammy this time) and then her sweet face is gone. And Chris is alone again. What a swell night this is turning out to be.

 

❤️

 

Chris spends the next half hour watching couples dance, and wondering why the hell he doesn’t just get back into his car and go home. Probably because sitting in his bedroom with only books for company is a much more depressing way to spend the evening. At least he feels included while he’s actually at the dance, even if he has officially earned the Wallflower title now.

He’s picking at his cuticles out of sheer boredom (and maybe a little bit of self-consciousness) when he feels someone’s eyes on him. Looking up, Chris spots someone across the room. He’s lying to himself if he says his heart doesn’t skip a beat or two.

Tall, dark, strong-of-brow; hair slicked back with pomade into a tousled looking pompadour. Chris imagines that if the guy was any closer, he’d be able to smell the cigarettes on him, wants to wrap them both up in that smoky, earthy aroma.

Flushing red at the increased tightness of his suit trousers, Chris goes back to shredding the skin around his fingernails and decidedly not eyeing up that stranger across the gym. His mistake. While he’s been avoiding eye contact, Chris has missed the guy slipping away from his date and heading over in his direction.

“Mind if I take a seat?” It’s him. He’s lounging in the seat next to Chris, those long legs extended out in front of him.

Chris can feel himself sweating already. “Isn't your date going to notice that you're missing? She'll come after you, won't she?”

Tall, Dark Stranger just laughs. “Nah, Zoe's not like that. She'll find something else to entertain her. The name's Quinto. Zach. And you are?” He places a warm, broad palm over Chris’ fidgety hands when he doesn’t answer right away. “Don’t give me the cold shoulder. I want those eyes to be the only icy thing about you.”

“Chris.” Blushing all the way down past the collar of his suit, Chris mutters, “I can’t dance, you know. Why do you think I’m sitting over here? It’s definitely not for fun, I’ll tell you that much.”

Fingering the boutonniere on Chris’ lapel, Quinto leans in and whispers, “Why don't I give you private lesson, then?”

“Are you crazy?” Chris hisses. “We'll be caught out for sure in here. There's people everywhere.”

Lips brushing the shell of his ear, warm breath against his neck, and Chris can't suppress the shudder when he hears, “Then let’s find a space all to ourselves, where nobody can find us.” Quinto gives a tug on Chris’ necktie for good measure.

He's not entirely sure what possesses him to get up and follow Quinto to sneak out the back entrance of the gymnasium, but he does, and with only one backwards glance to check if anyone is watching.

Once outside, Chris finds himself pressed against Quinto’s broad chest, a source of constant warmth in the crisp night air. He can feel his own heart thudding nervously in his chest, and wonders idly if Quinto can as well, or if he can't, whether he'd like to.

A new song starts up from inside the dance, something modern and slow. Quinto takes Chris’ hands, placing them on his shoulders and then sliding his own arms around Chris’ waist. They sway gently together in the back parking lot, Quinto’s soft and steady counting eventually giving way to necking. (Chris was right to have imagined the bitey taste of cigarettes on that tongue.)

Under the stars, Quinto’s lips pressed to his, Chris casts a silent thank you to Kathleen Burgeson for having found a better Valentine’s date.

He’s found a better one, too.

_This is the night for love_  
_One we'll remember_  
_With the stars up above  
_ _Woah, this is the night for love_


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep going. So here is the "kept going."

They’ve completely given up on the dancing, abandoning their hideout behind the gym, and somehow finding their way to Chris’ car.

Quinto reaches up to undo his skinny tie and shed his sports coat, tossing them both unceremoniously to the floor, all the while straddling Chris’ lap where he's sprawled across the Chevy’s backseat.

Chris’ own necktie has long since disappeared. Most of his dress shirt buttons are undone, Quinto’s confident hands pushing aside his undershirt and exploring his chest, teasing his nipples hard.

Normally, Chris would be embarrassed at the fact that Quinto has to cover his mouth to muffle the sounds he’s making, but the reality of the position he finds himself in overrules any feelings beside surprised pleasure. Chris is so far gone right now, he can’t even remember what embarrassment _is_.

Quinto releases Chris’ kiss-swollen lower lip from between his teeth and swipes his tongue up Chris’ jaw to nip at his earlobe. “God, Chris, the things I want to do to those lips. You've held my attention all night. The minute I saw you across the room, I knew I had to have you.”

“Oh shit, Za-aah! Damn it, ow, my head.” Chris unconsciously bucks his hips up, throwing both of them into the car door headfirst.

“Poor baby.” Zach's pompadour has fallen out of its stiff hold, dark strands hanging down in front of his eyes. He looks dangerous this way, and Chris is all too suddenly feeling brave. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“Oh God, do I ever." Chris wrestles his arms free from where they’re trapped between his body and the backseat of car, wraps them around Zach till his hands rest on his shoulder blades, and pulls him into rough kiss full of teeth and tongue and god knows what else.

Chris feels Zach tuck the rumpled pink carnation from his boutonniere behind his ear, fingers caressing his cheek as he pulls his hand away.

His legs are cramping from the tight position against the car door, and it’s hot and stuffy and crowded with Zach sprawled out on top of him, but Chris finds he doesn’t care when there’s a hand fumbling at the button fly of Chris’ suit trousers, and arousal is slowly coiling in his gut because Zach’s smoky mouth is wrapped around Chris’ dick, and his toes are wet and everything suddenly takes on a dreamlike quality.

Wait a minute. His toes are wet? What the hell?

Chris’ eyes fly open. He’s lying on his side in bed, sheets tangled around his body. His legs stick out the side of the bed and Noah is there, happily licking at his feet.

“Noah, that’s so gross.” That’s Zach’s voice. The doggie kisses cease with a clicking of paws on the hardwood, and then a blurry outline comes into view and sits down on the bed next to Chris. “Good morning. You tossed and turned all night, so I figured I’d let you sleep in.”

Chris rolls over onto his back, and grinds his palms into his eyes. “I had the weirdest fucking dream last night? You have no idea.”

Zach laughs softly. “What was it about? Romantic at all?”

“Kind of. Mostly it was awful. We were teenagers, but not like when we were _actually teenagers_ , you know? It was the fifties or something, and there was a Valentine’s Day dance, and I think Lindsay Lohan was my date?” Chris halfheartedly punches Zach in the thigh when he snorts. “Shut up, I didn’t enjoy it.”

“So is that all?”

Chris buries his face in his pillow, snuggling closer to Zach, who’s stretched out along his side. “God I wish. I’m pretty sure I got Ben Foster laid, which was… really weird. I don’t really know where that came from.”

Zach reaches out and brushes Chris’ bedhead back from his face, smiling. “Did you not dream about me?” he asks, and Chris can’t tell if he’s serious or not. Zach’s funny like that sometimes.

“Of course I did. You don’t think I’d leave you out, do you? I’m pretty sure we were about to have the hottest car sex of our lives in the backseat of ‘57 Chevrolet before Noah here decided to intervene.”

When Chris’ stomach feels the need to remind him that he hasn’t eaten breakfast yet, Zach gives him a quick peck on the lips and then tosses him a pair of sleep pants. Sliding his glasses on as an afterthought, Chris follows him out into the kitchen. He can see the TV playing some romantic Expedia commercial, the cheery background song filling the room. It sounds familiar for some reason.

“Hey, Zach? What are those?”

Turning around from the fridge with a carton of orange juice, Zach follows Chris’ outstretched arm. “Hmm? I don’t know. I thought they were from you. They were there when I got up this morning. Pretty though, aren’t they?”

Chris feels his heart skip a little.

On the kitchen countertop, sits a glass vase filled with red and white carnations. A lone pink Malmaison stands in the center.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everybody <3
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr](www.tumblr.com/cardassiansunrise).


End file.
